Job’s friends first “...sat on the ground with him for seven days...”, Christ was quick to look upon the lepers, and to weep for Lazarus (Job 2:13, John 11:35, Luke 17:11-14). Biblical realities such as these inform one of the predominant Christian approaches to the suffering other, namely ‘presence’. They outline a posture oriented towards such practices as silence, listening, sitting, commiseration, and the like. It is a posture that sufferers long to encounter; Nicholas Wolterstorff, mourning the death of his son, makes plain his desire to meet simply a present caregiver or well-wisher, “Over there, you are of no help... To comfort me, you have to come close. Come sit beside me on my mourning bench.” (1)Wolterstorff wants simply for someone to sit beside him. This seems to suggest that caregivers would do well first and foremost to proceed purely with presence. Yet, this perspective stops short of a full Christian response to suffering. After all, Job’s friends eventually spoke, and Christ healed the lepers and raised Lazarus. In short, they acted. This model of a ‘posture of presence’ fails to recognize such movement while attending grief; in other words, it fails to capture the active character of the Biblical handling of suffering.

Pragmatically, this essay will lean on works like Study in Moral Theory which posit the import of narrative as a palliative for suffering. Here, two types of story will be considered as means by which a clinician might garner a ‘knowledgeable compassion’ to reclaim the active nature of a faithful Christian response to suffering. This approach urges caregivers in longitudinal medical theatres (eg. pediatric oncology, end of life care, etc.) to discretionarily aid sufferers in situating their experiences within either a realized, ‘now’ or an eschatological, ‘not yet’ narrative (or both).

The first narrative recognizes Christians as people living during the Saeculum, the period between Christ’s resurrection and return and in which believers are charged, in part, with establishing temporal peace. Such temporary and incomplete Shalom is brought to the suffering by situating their experience within a personal narrative of self as defined by each person’s varying social contexts. This ‘realized’ narrative imbues suffering with meaning for sufferers in the present allowing them to effectively look up from their ‘mourning bench’ in order to live into the next chapter of life.

The second narrative recognizes the fundamental Christian hope found in Christ’s return, the coming Kingdom, and an eternal Shalom. When Christian caregivers and patients share this framework there is an opportunity to further urge those who suffer to situate their experience within a larger ‘canonical narrative’ which culminates in ultimate peace, or Shalom. Remembering to see one’s hardship in light of such a Biblical teleology can lend hope to the suffering. Where there is hope, there can be peace, however transient and imperfect. With a mind towards an assured return, sufferers might be able to fix their eyes on the end of their ‘mourning bench’.

By helping patients weave their experiences into these two kinds of narrative, Christian medical professionals can reclaim the active character of a truly Biblical model for attending to suffering. In doing so, they lend patients a constructive, meaningful, and hopeful perspective on their suffering. ​1 Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), p. 34.